Fourteen Days
by IreneHolmes
Summary: The Ring is destroyed, Sauron has fallen, and Aragorn is free to become king... but there are three hobbits whose lives hang in the balance. The story of what happened between March 25 and April 8, when Frodo, Sam, and Pippin fought for their lives.
1. Tending the Sick

"Get moving! Get the wounded to the tents; try to sort out the dead if you can!" the dark-haired man shouted. "The worst has passed, but we have work to do still!"

"Sir, what do we do about the Orcs?" It was a young soldier, clad in the silver armor of Minas Tirith.

The captain sighed and glanced over the ruined plain. _Just like any war. Once the swords have clashed, there's still a lot to clean up. _Most of the new recruits came under his wing expecting nothing but action, or else they had overly romantic ideas of what it meant to be a warrior. But Thoron stopped that nonsense within days of their arrival - they soon learned that fighting was only half of the job description.

"Elbereth's flame, boy, lift your end higher!" he shouted at yet another yearling recruit. "That Uruk won't move itself!"

The boy's face was red from the strain.

"I - I'm _trying, _sir. It's just that, well, it's - "

"It's heavy, boy, I know. But think of how much heavier it would be if it were _on top of you_."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There could be _wounded _under there, you son-of-an-orc! We're trying to save people, not smother them!"

The recruit nodded and pushed up harder. Thoron smirked. He may have been tough, but he knew it was all for the best.

"Sir!"

Thoron whirled.

"Anor, what is it?"

His lieutenant held out his arms. "A _perian_, my lord."

_What?_

Thoron stepped closer, eyeing the limp figure in his second's arms.

"Where did you find him?"

"When my men moved that cave troll, sir. He was beneath it."

"_Beneath _it? Does he live?" Thoron asked, bending over the figure intently. The brown-haired _perian_ was lifeless in Anor's grip, his mail cut clean through in several places. A slick, dark liquid lay over much of the breastplate. _Blood._

"The armor was spiked." the captain realized.

"Yes, sir." answered Anor. "But if his sword's any evidence, he was the one who brought it down. It's buried so deep in the troll-flesh I doubt we'll ever retrieve it."

"What do you plan to do with him?" Thoron inquired.

"Let me through!" a gruff voice suddenly cried. Both men turned, watching the crews of soldiers being displaced by a short, stocky figure.

"I found him, and I'll take care of him!" cried the Dwarf, as Thoron quickly recognized. "Give him here!"

"What?" Thoron asked. "What's going on?"

"It's the Dwarf, sir." Anor replied. "He was the one who discovered the body. He directed us to move the troll carcass to get at it; I think he was going to bury it."

"Bury it?" the Dwarf shouted, now next to the Gondor soldiers. "Not here. He deserves a proper resting-place, away from this monstrous field. I'll take care of him." He extended a thick arm for the body.

"Gimli! There you are!"

Both soldiers snapped to attention as a tall, lanky man in royal livery strode up.

"My lord." Anor murmured, averting his eyes. "The Dwarf was just - "

"His name is Gimli." Aragorn said. "And…"

The king's voice trailed off as he realized who the lieutenant held in his arms. He blinked, and then glanced again at the all-too-familiar face before him.

_No. This can't be. Not Pippin. _

He had always been the bright one, the optimistic naïveté that brought a smile to everyone's face. He'd survived so much with relatively little scarring, and now to come to an end at the moment of victory… it just wasn't _fair._

"I… I'll take him, Gimli, if you don't mind." the king said, removing the burden from Anor and gently cradling the fallen hero.

"He killed a troll." the Dwarf said listlessly. "That was how… how it happened."

A troll. So that was how he'd fallen.

"It fell on him?"

"Y-yes. I found his body under the carcass myself."

Aragorn closed his eyes. _Not now. I can't have lost him now._ His mind flashed back to the fields of Rohan, where he'd knelt and despaired of hope that the hobbits he sought were alive. He'd been surprised that time, but now? No. Not a chance.

The memory struck with surprising force, taking him back several months to another time, another place.

"_I'm alright! I'm not hurt. Put me down!"_

"_I thought you were dead."_

"_Looks like there's more to this hobbit then meets the eye."_

Aragorn knelt suddenly, laying Pippin on the ground.

"Aragorn, what are you doing?" Gimli asked. The ranger waved him off.

_Please, Pippin. Please be alive._

He closed his eyes, trained hands feeling all over. There was something _there_, he knew it.

"Hobbits are resilient creatures." he said in explanation. "Somehow they have ways of surviving anything."

"But he's _dead_, Aragorn!"

"I'll believe that only when there's no other alternative." the king said. "Pippin, you can do it."

"He's not breathing." Anor said.

"Yes, but _why_?" Aragorn asked. "It can't be the wounds, can it? I've seen people recover from worse."

Anor tried to focus on the task at hand and ignore the fact that the High King of Gondor was speaking to him like an equal.

"Perhaps there's something keeping him from breathing?" he suggested.

Aragorn stiffened. "That could be true." he said. "Help me open his mouth."

The two men propped Pippin's mouth open, and Aragorn peered into it.

"I don't see anything." Anor said.

"You have to go deeper." said Aragorn, reaching in with a gloved hand. At Anor's shocked look, he sighed.

"I'm a healer. This is what I _do_."

His hand went into the open mouth almost before he realized what he was doing. His fingers moved of their own accord, finally finding what they sought. His fist closed around a round object, and he began to gently work it free of the hobbit's windpipe.

"I - I've got it." he said finally, relaxing. Opening his hand, Aragorn couldn't help but laugh.

"What is it?" Anor asked, eyeing the metallic sphere.

"It came from the troll's armor, I suppose." Gimli said.

"When the beast hit the ground, it probably shook loose and fell into Pippin's mouth." Aragorn affirmed. "But he's not breathing yet. Stand back."

Seeing that the hobbit's mouth was still open, Aragorn moved Pippin's arms to the side. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his own lips against Pippin's face and breathed out. Sitting back up, he folded his hands and pressed hard against his friend's chest, counting silently.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

"Aragorn, what in Durin's mine are you _doing?_" Gimli asked.

"Leave me alone." the ranger said.

_Five._

_Six._

_Seven._

_Eight._

_Pippin, come. Wake up. You're still alive, I _know _it._

_Nine. _

_Ten._

_Eleven._

_Twelve._

A gasp broke out from Pippin's lungs suddenly, a sharp intake of air that startled Gimli and caused Anor to leap backward.

"He lives." Aragorn sighed, relaxing into a crouch.

Gimli sank to his knees. "H… how?"

"An Elvish idea." Aragorn said. "Elrond told me that sometimes the wounded are saved if you breathe for them for a while."

"It worked." the dwarf commented drily.

"Obviously." said Aragorn.

"Do you know where the elf got to?" Gimli asked.

"No." the king answered. "He said he would await the return of…"

"Of what?"

"The eagles."

Aragorn was on his feet instantly, already sprinting to a cleared patch of land that Gwaihir and his kindred had left from.

"Legolas!" he called.

"Here, Aragorn." said the serene voice of the elf he knew so well.

Aragorn turned to see his comrade standing in the midst of the chaos, eyes directed upward.

"The sky is clearing." he commented.

"The Mountain's flame seems to have subsided."

"That's not what I meant." The words were unspoken, but Aragorn knew the meaning behind them well.

"_He_'s gone." the king replied.

"_Tancave._" the elf replied.

"I never knew you spoke Quenya." Aragorn commented.

"I don't." Legolas said. "But Elrohir does."

"I see." Aragorn replied. "Is my brother near, by chance?"

"Last I saw he was helping Halbarad with the horses. A few were injured in the battle. I would be helping, but…"

"You have other matters to look upon."

"Of course."

Aragorn turned his gaze to the dead Orcs lying about.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's true." he said.

"If what's true?"

"If Orcs are truly of Elven lineage."

The disdain in Legolas's voice was evident. "You can trust me. They are."

"But _how _could…"

"Look out!" a voice cried. "They're coming down!"

"Aragorn!" Legolas cried, moving quickly and shoving him aside as three immense forms came down from above. The king barely had time to scramble out of the way before four talons released their burdens onto the hard plain and then departed for more elevated resting grounds. The third eagle, however, landed and let his rider depart.

"Mithrandir." Legolas said, his hand touching his shoulder in greeting.

The wizard's face was grave.

"We found them." he said. "As you can see."

Aragorn swallowed hard. Below him, lifeless on the ground, lay Frodo and Sam.

_It's the first time I've seen them in some months._ he realized. _Such a time should warrant a happy reunion, but now…? I know not. _

Pushing all thoughts of the past aside, Aragorn knelt at the side of Frodo, giving the wounds a cursory eye.

"Would that I had the eyes for both worlds." he murmured skyward, wondering if Elbereth answered the queries of mortals as well as Eldar. "Then perhaps I could begin to see the damage."

"It is not a sight I would see again." said a gruff voice to the king's right.

"No." Aragorn agreed softly. As always, Gandalf was right. "I only wish I could see past the skin."

"The damage is great." Gandalf assured him, placing a hand on the king's shoulder. "I fear Frodo has suffered greatly."

Like a stab through the heart, the Mouth of Sauron's words came rushing back into Aragorn's head. _Eru, lau._

"The healers' tent." he said, cradling the body of his comrade in his arms and standing. "Gimli, bring Pippin."

Legolas had knelt to examine Sam, and now lifted him and followed Aragorn. His own heart wrenched as he felt the spirit of his friend flailing for life. There was hope for him, but only if they acted fast.

Upon arrival into the tent, the three hobbits were lain side-by-side in the biggest cot the healers had brought. Pippin slept now, and while Sam was in danger he needed rest most of all; Aragorn chose to concentrate on Frodo first.

"Frodo…" he whispered, taking a bowl of steaming water and using a cloth to clear the blood and ash from the traveler's face. "_Lasto beth nin. Telin le thaed._" He found himself echoing the words Arwen had spoken when she'd come upon them in the woods… no. Arwen was a memory, a shadow of a time past. _It was only a dream. _He had to focus on the here-and-now.

His eyes closed as he slowly slid the frayed elf-cloak from Frodo's shoulders. The gash in his neck revealed how great the weight of the Ring had been at the close; thankfully that was the most serious wound he could see at the moment.

"Athelas." he said. "Sage, and thyme. There's something on his neck, it looks like a spider bite. And cinnamon, if you have any."

The healers scurried to do his bidding, and suddenly Aragorn felt Gandalf's hand on his shoulder again.

"I never should have let him go…"

Aragorn turned to face his mentor. "Gandalf, he chose this. There's nothing you could have done."

The wizard's hand tightened its grip. "Cirith Ungol." he whispered. "I knew they took that way. There was nothing I could do."

"Do not let this trouble you." Aragorn insisted. "Ah, the herbs."

He took the athelas and crushed it into the water, carefully cleansing the wounds around the hobbit's neck. When the dirt was washed away, he took the other herbs and worked them into a poultice with the athelas.

"Sam needs my skill at the moment." he said. "Gandalf, take the herbs and coat his wounds with them. If you see any signs of the torture spoken of, let me know."

Turning to Sam, Aragorn closed his eyes in a silent prayer. _Well done, good and faithful servant… _he thought. _You saved your master's life._

The wounds on the second hobbit might not have been as deep, but they were more numerous. He cleaned each scratch as he found it, and watched in horror as the story of the two friends' journey unfolded. Sam had not only borne the brunt of a whipping, he'd been badly burned by the molten fire from the Mountain. And, Aragorn realized, his ribs stood out clearly against his taut, ashen skin. Remembering how he'd always been the slowest, most heavy of the twain, the realization Sam had been starving himself for Frodo brought tears to the king's eyes.

"Aragorn!"

Gandalf's voice was taut with fear.

"What is it?"

Gandalf held Frodo's hand in his own, blood staining his leathery palm.

"What in Eru's name?" Aragorn murmured, taking the icy hand and examining it for himself. "It… it's been _bitten _off."

The sharp intake of breath was enough to assure Aragorn that all had heard him.

"I do not think the injury is more than two hours old." he said. "If I am right, this was suffered shortly before the Mountain spat forth fire."

"Then it is not an orc-wound." Legolas sighed, voicing the unspoken worry of the four Walkers in the tent.

"I am almost certain not." Aragorn said, taking the bony hand and setting to work cleansing it. Frodo's condition came as a second shock - if Sam had been starving himself to feed his master, what had Frodo done with the food? His bones were clearly visible, mapping his body from under taut, dry skin; obviously he hadn't eaten in months.

"Legolas, get my brothers." the healer directed. While the Fellowship wanted to help, there was not much they could do. Elladan and Elrohir would be far more capable in this. _There's only one of me, and three to care for._

The wood-elf nodded and slipped out to find the twins. Aragorn rose and went to Pippin, taking care not to overlook a wound and let one of the three perish. He saw with relief that the spiked armor had missed the lifeless warrior's heart, and he carefully cleaned each puncture and layered it with salve and bandages. When Legolas returned with the twins, the king straightened up.

"_Toroni._" he said, letting a slight relief escape. He'd lived alongside the two brothers for most of his life, and he saw them as every bit his siblings. _I never really doubted they would survive, but it is good to know for certain._

"We have work to do." observed Elladan.

"Yes." Aragorn replied. "See to Peregrin, Elrohir. I shall look after Frodo."

The twins nodded, Elladan seating himself beside Sam and scanning his body for injury.

"I will need plaster." he said. "And linen. His wrists are broken."

"Peregrin is safe for the moment." Elrohir said. "But I need some of that plaster."

The healers from Minas Tirith were kept busy rushing herbs and remedies between the brothers, and though fatigue tugged at his eyelids, Gandalf couldn't find sleep. Rising suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

"I am leaving." he said. "Gwaihir and I will return when we can, but there is nothing I can do here."

Standing up, he exited the tent. Legolas watched him go, realizing with a faint smile what he intended to do.

The hours slipped past as the three healers worked nonstop. Outside, night fell and then ended, rose-tipped fingers of sunlight stretching into the sky; still Aragorn supervised the healing of his friends. Finally, sweat coating his forehead, he sat back and closed his eyes.

"Frodo shall live."

The relief in the tent was almost tangible, as Legolas and Gimli stood and moved to examine their friend.

"His breathing is steady." the elf commented.

"Yes, but he needs food."

"Samwise as well." Elladan said, his fingers probing the bones of the hobbit's limp arm.

"I'll get it." Gimli said, standing up. "Elf, you'd better come too."

"What do you need?" Legolas asked, trying not to cringe at being called 'elf'.

"Miruvor, if there is any." Aragorn said. "And something besides gruel."

The friends departed on their search for food, and Aragorn grinned to himself.

"Such an unlikely bond." Elladan said, eyes on the retreating pair.

"My thoughts exactly."

"Estel, I have lived long enough to know your mind."

"And I never cease to be amazed by your knowledge."

"There is someone coming." Elrohir said.

Aragorn tensed, hand going to the elven knife at his belt. After so long a time under the shadow of Sauron, he reacted to anything as if it could be a threat. His fears, thankfully, were groundless.

"What am I doing here? What is this place?" said a slightly muffled voice as the tent was entered again.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, everything I do has a reason." said Gandalf, stepping into the room. "If you think I have dragged you miles from your bed without any cause whatsoever, you are sadly mistaken."

"But then why did we spend all night riding an… _oh._"

Merry had stepped into the tent, hands on his hips in defiance, only to come face-to-face with his unconscious kindred. He stood in silence momentarily, and then started to shake.

"I… I didn't… oh, Frodo, what _happened_?"

The hobbit was torn, obviously, between standing in shock and rushing to his cousin's side.

"You see now why I brought you." Gandalf said.

Merry bit his lip, feeling tears prick at his eyes. "What… what can I do?"

"Be here." Aragorn said, rising to greet his friend. "They sleep now, they are in no pain."

"But… but what _happened _to them? Frodo… Sam… it's like they're…"

Merry's voice trailed off as he struggled to understand, and finally he closed his eyes and let the tears come.

"I just… I only wanted to help him. He thought I didn't understand what it was like, and he was right, but I wasn't going to leave him and now he's like _that_…"

Gandalf put a hand on Merry's shoulder. "Frodo fought bravely, Meriadoc. As did you."

Merry shuddered. The memory of his battle against the Witch-King was fresh in his mind, and he realized now the pain Frodo must have endured while fighting his vanquished opponent's poison.

"What... what can I do?" he asked, suddenly realizing that Pippin lay on another cot not far from Frodo's own.

"Be here." Aragorn said. "We have many hours of work ahead of us."

Merry sighed and closed his eyes.

"I... I'll do anything I can."


	2. Memory Strikes

The night crept slowly past, and as Aragorn and his brothers kept vigil by the sleeping hobbits they felt sleep encroach on their heavy eyes. Despite their status as sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir were human in body and needed rest now that the immediate danger had passed. Gimli had dropped off moments before, leaning against the foot of the cot, and Merry lay in a castoff cloak near the far wall of the tent. Legolas and Gandalf had departed for fresh air and a glimpse of the stars earlier; only the healers were awake now.

Stifling a yawn, Elrohir looked at his exhausted brethren.

"Aragorn," he said softly, "I think you need rest."

The King shook his head, checking Frodo's bandages yet again.

"He speaks the truth, Estel." Elladan commented from the other side of the cot. "We are all at our strength's end."

"I... I cannot." Aragorn sighed. "I owe Frodo so much."

"You are no good to him dead." Elrohir argued. "We will not leave the tent. Just sit down for a time. We sleep lightly; if anything happens we will be awakened to it."

Too tired to argue, the King of Gondor sank to the grassy earth and closed his eyes.

_Just a moment's rest._

Hours later, the sun slowly began her ascent over the horizon. The sky turned from black to grey to a faint pink, rays of light finding their way down to the field of Cormallen and into the tent. Slumber still held strong there - none of the concerned healers and friends had awoken to tend their charges. Outside, Gandalf and Legolas had slipped into a waking dream, renewing their strength for the coming day.

On the edge of the cot, Frodo began to stir. He twisted to one side slightly, strength gone. Eyes still closed, he trembled under the light blankets and gave a faint cry. Aragorn, sitting beside him, murmured in his sleep but did not wake. The fit continued, Frodo's mouth flying open in a silent scream as he thrashed. None knew it, but he was feeling for the first time the pangs of separation from the Ring.

In his convulsions, his hand slid from its place by his side, striking out against some invisible assailant and landing hard across Aragorn's shoulders. The man sat up, instantly alert. Eyes open, he scanned the tent for any enemies. _None._ Relaxing, he wondered what had awakened him.

_Frodo._

The thought came crashing down on him and he turned to see his hobbit charge flailing as if under attack from something much greater than himself. Coming to his knees, Aragorn put a hand on Frodo's forehead. _Hot._ Better than the soul-freezing cold of the day before, but not by much. Alarmed at the sudden change, the King called for aid.

"_Toroni!_ Gandalf!"

Instantly the sons of Elrond sprang to their feet. The far wall of the tent shifted as outside Gandalf came awake, moving inside as quickly as he could.

"Hold him." Aragorn said. "He burns with fever, I must examine his wounds."

"No." Gandalf's voice cut through Aragorn's worry. "Let me see him."

Stepping to his friend's side, the wizard closed his eyes and placed an aged hand across Frodo's forehead, sliding down until his fingertips brushed the hobbit's temple. Mustering his strength, he plunged into the mind of the injured hobbit.

The damage he found stunned him. Frodo's consciousness had been fading away since he took the Ring that previous year, and now there was almost nothing left. To the wizard, it was as if Frodo's _fea_ had been shredded into fragments, now struggling to repair themselves with the binding agent the Ring had been.

_He was blind._ Gandalf realized, feeling his heart freeze within him. _Blind until the end._

Frodo's memories were easy enough to probe, but Gandalf was gentle as he scanned the hobbit's mind for the events of the past month. Slowly he realized just what it was Frodo had done for Middle-Earth.

Coming back into himself, the wizard opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn.

"His fea is wounded, almost beyond healing." he said.

"We will do what we can." Aragorn answered.

Gandalf felt tears come to his eyes. It had been many years since the doings of mortals had made him cry, but the sacrifice his friend had made brought home the pain of watching others suffer.

"Aragorn, he was blind before the end. I have seen his memories. He wandered the Black Land without even his sight to guide him."

The King bowed his head, paying silent tribute to the hobbit's journey.

"I will do all in my power to save him." he said.

"As will I." Gandalf affirmed.

At the edge of the tent, Gimli awoke and sat up, instantly cursing himself for falling asleep.

"Frodo?" he asked. "Are - is he well?"

"No." Aragorn answered. "He burns with fever."

The tent flap _swished_ again as Legolas stepped into the group.

"Forgive me." he said. "I was merely seeking solace in the free air."

"Frodo is sick." Gimli said, causing his elf friend to rush to the bedside.

"I... I recognize this." he said, taking in Frodo's murmurings and movements. "Tell me, Aragorn; when you examined him, did he have any sort of mark on him similar to an insect bite?"

Aragorn paused. "Yes. There was something on his neck that seemed unusual." He bent and gently lifted Frodo, turning the skeletal hobbit onto his side. "At first I thought it was a spider bite because of the rash around it, but it seemed to heal so I let it be."

Legolas narrowed his eyes as he looked at it. "How did they get into Mordor?"

It was Gandalf who spoke up, realizing what Legolas suspected.

"They took the path through Cirith Ungol."

The elf jolted upright, turning to face Gandalf.

"Cirith Ungol?" he asked. "You... they faced _her_?"

"Who?" Gimli asked. Aragorn gently returned Frodo to his former position.

"_Ungoliell._" Legolas muttered, rising and stalking out of the tent. Aragorn could hear him calling for the healers - _I hope he doesn't disturb them too greatly. It is dawn, after all._

"Who?" Gimli repeated. "Who is Ungoliell?"

Merry, who had been sleeping on a couch brought into the tent for his use, finally awoke.

"What's all this yelling?" he said, yawning widely.

"Frodo has a fever." Aragorn said.

"What?" Merry cried, springing to his feet and rushing to the side of his cousin. "What's wrong?"

"Legolas thinks he knows." Aragorn said. "But Gandalf, who is this Ungoliell? He speaks of a spider-daughter, what does he mean?"

The wizard sighed and placed a leather palm on Frodo's forehead.

"Ungoliant." he said, spitting out the word as quickly as possible. "Her child."

Aragorn jerked upright, pulling back from Frodo as if in fear.

"She... she had a _child_?"

Elladan and Elrohir shared a worried look, pushing Aragorn aside to examine Frodo's neck more closely.

"Estel," Elrohir said, "I think the rash has spread."

"It's fainter," agreed Elladan, "but it seems to have moved down his neck to his arm and chest."

The twins quickly removed the loose shift Frodo had been clad in to give some semblance of dignity and nodded grimly. The rash surrounding the wound had indeed turned from scarlet to pale pink, but it had moved down from the injury to Frodo's left shoulder and chest.

As Merry watched, his heart froze. He could see for the first time in months what was left of the Witch-King's wrath, and the sight chilled him to the bone.

"It could have been me." he whispered. He saw on his kinsman's arm the same pallor he now had, the same veins of black tracing under the skin. _Whatever pain I endured, he suffered tenfold. Oh, Frodo... I'm so sorry._

"Merry?" Gimli asked, following the hobbit's line of sight to Frodo's shoulder. "Oh."

"I... I can't bear it." he whispered, feeling the old ache in his bones return again. "I could have suffered that, I could have felt that pain. And yet I survived unscathed." Suddenly the memory struck once more, and he was again crouching on the ground and blind with terror. Only the firm reality of Gimli's hand on his shoulder brought him back.

"I have to bear it." he realized. "For Frodo."

_For Frodo._


	3. Wound Healed, Wound Remembered

Frodo stirred in his sleep, trembling with cold beneath the blankets. His neck was swollen and the skin surrounding the wound had risen and turned an ugly shade of green. A faint rash spread from his neck to his shoulder; his chest rose and fell slightly every few seconds.

"That needs lancing."

Gandalf opened his eyes and shook himself free of Frodo's mind. He was seated by the hobbit's bedside, and he had been there all morning.

"It might kill him, Aragorn. I'm with him now, though he cannot sense my presence. He floats as if dead, and not entirely due to his wounds. Any shock may sever his bond with life completely."

The king shook his head.

"The risk of infection is too great. Gandalf, we may lose him to this poison if I don't act."

The wizard sighed. "Very well. I will shield him as best I can from the pain."

Closing his eyes again, Gandalf placed his hand on the hobbit's forehead and slid into Frodo's consciousness once more. Aragorn watched in silent regret; the needle in his hand felt suddenly heavy.

_I wish to Elbereth I didn't have to do this._

Frodo pulled back, screaming silently as thick pus dribbled from the hole the healer had punctured. Gandalf tensed as well, his hands shaking as he murmured something under his breath. Merry, who had fallen asleep by Pippin's bedside, snapped awake as if the cry was audible.

"Strider? What's going on?"

As if on cue, the tent flap parted and Legolas strode in. Elladan followed holding a bowl.

"Move aside." the Mirkwood prince commanded. "My people treat wounds like this every day."

"What wound?" Merry asked. "Is the spider bite still there? Or..."

His voice trailed off as the alternative occurred to him.

_Is it his shoulder?_

The old pain throbbed through his sword-arm, chilling the air and blurring his vision momentarily. But Merry shook his head and clenched his teeth, focusing on Frodo.

Aragorn stepped away, deferring to Legolas's expertise.

"Was I right to lance the boil?" he asked.

"Yes. The pus is poison if exposed to his blood."

"Poison?" Merry cried, springing to his feet. "Will he be alright?"

"I must drain the wound, then we shall see. Have hope, Meriadoc." the elf replied in an attempt to mask his concern. He placed his hands on Frodo's neck and pressed around the boil, forcing the foul-smelling ooze out. Aragorn seized a cloth and wiped away the discharge as Legolas worked, and after some minutes the liquid ceased.

"Give me a knife."

Aragorn obeyed, passing his friend a small surgical blade. Legolas sliced open the wound and began removing the diseased flesh.

"Stop it, you're killing him!" Merry shouted, realizing Frodo had gone completely limp.

"Hush now, young one." Elladan said. "They must clean away the dead areas, else the poison will spread anew."

"But I - !"

"_Be still_."

Merry glared in silence as his friends labored on, cutting into Frodo's neck and carving away as much of the poisoned places as they could. At last both stood, and Legolas beckoned to Elladan.

"The poultice."

Elrond's son passed over the bowl. Aragorn smeared its contents over the raw flesh and Legolas bandaged each afflicted part after the oils and herbs were applied. Finally both friends stood back from Frodo's side, surveying their work.

Merry wasted no time in running to his cousin. He inspected the bandages and gripped the limp hand laying on the quilt in a comforting hold.

"Please, Frodo, don't die. _Don't die._"

But he couldn't stop himself from staring at the blackened flesh of Frodo's exposed left shoulder.

It was near midnight when Gimli and Elrohir returned from their ride, both exhausted from the day's work. The sense of helplessness had driven Gimli to distraction, and to give him something to focus on Elrohir had suggested they aid the Dunedain in their hunt for orc bands that had escaped the destruction of two days before. The search had been successful several times over, and a very satisfied dwarf was on his way to see how his friends had spent the day.

Legolas stood silently by the tent flap, eyes on the stars. He nodded in greeting as the hunters approached.

"Frodo sleeps peacefully." he reassured them. Gimli's shoulders relaxed visibly. "I was able to cleanse most of the venom from him."

"Most? That doesn't sound encouraging."

"Some had already spread to his body, Gimli. It will trouble him in the future but it will not be unbearable."

"Hmmph." Gimli grumbled good-naturedly. "What else can you expect from an elf?"

Elrohir ignored the squabble and peered into the tent. "My brothers, Legolas. Where are they?"

"Inside, sleeping. Collapsed as if they were young boys again."

The peredhel smiled faintly and entered, shedding off his bow and quiver before falling exhaustedly into the jumble of arms and legs that his siblings had entangled themselves into. Gimli followed him, and he heard the _swish_ of the tent flap as Legolas came behind. He sized up the dark space approvingly. Gandalf still sat by Frodo, a hand on his head. Across from him was the low chair Merry usually occupied... but where was the hobbit himself?

The dwarf cast his eyes about, searching for Merry.

"Lad?" he called. "Merry? Are you there?"

Legolas moved beside him and motioned with his hand towards the farthest and most black corner of the tent. Gimli turned, realizing that there was a tiny figure huddled in the dark. The two friends approached and crouched beside it.

Merry's eyes were open and unblinking, his still-bandaged sword-arm trembling by his side.

"Merry lad?" Gimli whispered.

"He's withdrawn into himself." Legolas said. "Bring me a blanket. We must warm him."

The dwarf obeyed, and Legolas took Merry's hand in his own and began to murmur a song in the hobbit's ear.

"His arm is like ice." Gimli said, wrapping his own cloak over the blanket he'd brought.

"_Meriadoc, lasto beth lin. Telin le thaed._" Legolas intoned, eyes closed.

"...And the elf is not listening." Gimli sighed. Suddenly, Merry jerked upright, his body rigid.

"_Fro _- !" he cried, but Legolas clapped a hand over his mouth and stifled the sound. Immediately Merry struggled, lashing out in fear or in simple blind delirium. Gimli came closer to Legolas and fought to restrain the flailing hobbit, sustaining a kick to his ribs but eventually enveloping Merry in the cast-off blankets. That forced him to lie still, and as soon as the fight had begun it was over.

Legolas stiffened in shock as Merry turned toward him and nestled into his grasp, pressing against the elf's chest like a child. He adjusted to the new touch and relaxed, extending what shield he could over the unconscious hobbit.

"He... he's in pain." he realized. "I can feel him fighting it."

"His wounded arm is like ice." Gimli said. "I think maybe the Witch-King hurt him like Frodo."

"You're right." Legolas replied. "I can see a common shade in their spirits, though Frodo is near-invisible to my eyes."

"Well, what are we going to do about Merry?"

Thranduil's son considered the question.

"He needs contact with someone else." he decided. "I will sit with him until he sleeps." _The bond I've made to protect him will nourish his fea and keep the darkness at bay._

"What about me?"

Legolas turned an amused eye to his friend.

"You, Master Dwarf, should rest."

"Rest? Why?"

"You have hunted long today. You're tired."

"What about - ?"

"Do not protest, you cannot change my mind."

"Foolish elf."

"I do not need sleep. You do. Rest."

"No."

"Go to sleep or I shall sing you into oblivion as my sister does with her most stubborn horses!"

"Ha! As if some elf-lass's tune could undo a son of Durin!"

Legolas opened his mouth and began a new song.

Moments later, Gimli dropped to the ground, already dreaming.

Satisfied, the elf sat back and cradled Merry in his arms. He could sense the hobbit's fea close by, at peace despite the shadow the wraith had left behind. He wondered for a moment if perhaps the proximity to Frodo's own much more severe wound had caused this malaise, but ultimately it mattered little. Merry was strong and bright, even after this injury and his torment-filled march through Rohan.

_That was my own fault_. Legolas thought, and he tightened his grip about the sleeping hobbit in anger and guilt. _I should never have left Boromir alone. I _knew_ something was wrong._

_But thank Elbereth they escaped. And thank Elbereth we found them._

_We found all of them, and that's what's important._


	4. Tears Unshed

Merry awoke from a warm and dreamless slumber as something cool brushed against his face. He stirred and opened one eye, realizing that somehow he was nestled next to Pippin and covered by a thick quilt.

"Good morning, master hobbit."

Elrohir stood over Pippin, changing bandages and wiping away sweat and blood.

"Good morning." Merry answered. "What's the time?"

"Five hours past dawn. You slept well, I trust?"

"Oh, as well as can be expected. Is there any food?"

The peredhel pointed with a free hand to a nearby table.

"There is mead and a tray of scones. Aragorn and Gimli ate most of them, but I can find more if you need me to."

"That won't be necessary." Merry said, getting out of the bed and yawning. "Where is Strider, by the way?"

"Here, Merry."

Aragorn appeared at the entrance to the tent, holding a small kettle wrapped in a cloth.

"Peregrine is healing well." Elrohir said to his brother. "There is little more I can do; if I may, I'd like to leave and perhaps ride with Legolas for a time."

"I'm going to feed Frodo and Sam today." the man said. "Feel free to do what you will."

Elrohir wiped his hands and nodded, smiling at Merry before exiting the tent. The hobbit didn't notice; he was focused on Aragorn.

"Feed Frodo and Sam?" he asked.

"I let them sleep before, but they need to get some nourishment." Aragorn replied.

"You're going to wake them?"

"Valar, no. I'll merely bring them closer to waking so they can eat."

The King sat at Sam's bedside first. He eyed the pillows, unsure of how he was going to get the broth he'd prepared into the hobbit's stomach. Finally, he withdrew a small spoon from the kettle and turned to Merry.

"Can you bring me a water bottle?"

Merry fumbled at his belt and removed a leather canteen.

"Here." he said. "I grabbed it before I left. It's empty."

Aragorn took it and pulled off the cap, spooning the broth into the bottle. Once he'd filled it, he refastened the cap and turned to Sam.

"Could you hold the broth, Merry?"

"Of course."

Merry glanced over at Frodo as he stood. His cousin's skin was less green, but it was still deathly pale.

"Strider, where's Gandalf?" he asked, realizing that the wizard had abandoned his place at the Ringbearer's side.

"He's talking with Imrahil." the man sighed. "They're planning my coronation."

"Are you excited?"

"I... I'm not sure. I've got other things to focus on now." he said. He lifted the broth-filled canteen to Sam's lips and placed a hand behind the hobbit's head, lifting to allow him to breathe. At once Sam responded, sipping the broth and swallowing occasionally.

"Good, Sam!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Good. We'll see if you keep that down, and then I'll try some cornmeal mush."

Sam didn't reply, but he did breathe more deeply and soon had drained the bottle. Aragorn stroked the hobbit's hair and checked the plaster on his broken wrists. Satisfied, he turned to Frodo.

_Frodo_.

He remembered what Gandalf had said, that Frodo had been blind in the Black Land, and he sat beside the hobbit and picked him up.

"Merry, could you refill the bottle?" he asked, wrapping the emaciated figure in blankets and holding him close. Merry obeyed, and then turned towards the entrance.

"I need some air." he said. "And I'm going to find Gandalf."

Aragorn nodded. "Take your time."

Merry left, and the space fell silent.

The King looked down at Frodo, whose pale face was marked by hunger's devastation, and felt his heart rend. He took the leather bottle and slid the open end into Frodo's mouth. The broth, fortified with what little _miruvor_ his brothers had, spilled out...

... but Frodo wasn't taking it.

"Come, Frodo." Aragorn murmured. "You won't die now. Not in my arms."

But the body he held in his arms could have been dead, it was so still.

The man reached over and lifted the kettle Merry had left in Gandalf's chair to sit beside him. Removing the spoon, he drew out some broth. He gently parted Frodo's lips and slid in the spoon, lifting his head and massaging his throat so the hobbit would swallow. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he held them back and lifted out a second spoonful of broth. After what felt like hours of silent effort, finally Frodo began to respond. First it was just a tiny gasp of air, and then when he was given another spoonful of broth he gulped it down of his own free will.

"Yes." Aragorn whispered. "Thank you, little one. Thank you."

Frodo nestled in close to the King's chest, and his lungs filled with air.

_Thank Elbereth._

Aragorn shifted the hobbit until he was face up again, placing yet another mouthful of broth between his friend's parched lips.

"We'll try some water now, alright?" he murmured, withdrawing his own flask and letting Frodo sip from it. The unconscious Ringbearer reacted like a child, curling against Aragorn's body and silently drinking the cool water. It reminded the ranger of months before, when he'd held the injured hobbit and sheltered him from the cruel October rain as the poison ran its vile course. Then, as now, he'd wept inwardly for the lost innocence of his charges.

"How does he fare?"

Gandalf's voice was tired but warm at its core, and Aragorn turned to face him.

"I had to force the broth down at first, but now he takes it of his own accord. And he's drained my water flask."

The good news brought smiles to both their faces, and Gandalf sat beside the healer and watched his friend sleep.

"He's at peace, Aragorn." the wizard said. "Even if it's just for a moment, he's at peace."


End file.
